


You run my life right outta my soul

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Collaboration, Dorian and Cullen are vampires, Enemies, Futuristic Vampiric Thedas, M/M, Self Prompt, Undercover Missions, Vampire the Masquerade AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness
Summary: That was the danger of infiltrating enemies’ sects, and why Cullen preferred to suck information out of lower ranks; easier to make them talk, easier to get rid of.AKA the Vampire The Masquerade AU nobody asked for.





	You run my life right outta my soul

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of a collaboration with the wonderful [Tristinai,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai) based on the idea she tends to write angst, I tend to write fluff, so we thought it would be interesting to see what would result in the both of us writing something based on the same prompts. Those were: 
> 
> 1) Vampire The Masquerade AU,  
> 2) helping a bleeding enemy  
> 3) "I'm bleedin' all over the carpet, and I can't even understand what the hell you're saying" from my [VTMB prompt starters](http://captain-amoruca.tumblr.com/post/155768004747/vampire-the-masquerade-bloodlines-starters). 
> 
> Check out [Tristinai's story,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13796340) it's a delight. <3
> 
> For those of you who don't know about the pen and paper game and wish to know more about its vocabulary, I will include a quick summary of the story's main themes in the end notes.
> 
> The futuristic aspect is largely based on Altered Carbon. I blame it on the fact that I was watching the show while I was doing the outline.
> 
> Title is from the song O Death by Lloyd Chandler.

Archbishop Benezri’s mansion stood in Minrathous’ hightown, on a hill overlooking the whole city. It was surrounded by a complex garden of majestic flowers – ones who would blossom in the darkness, such as princesses of the night, moon flowers, Casablanca lilies and four o’clocks -  and a dragon spewed a geyser of water into a giant fountain standing in front of the main entrance. The mansion itself was a mix of neo-gothic architecture and modern materials, with its tall tinted windows and multitudes of pointed arches decorated with skulls and gargoyles.

From it emanated an immense elegance, yet mysterious lugubrious solitude that set any trespasser cautious and wary. A mysterious aura permeated the domain that unconsciously made mortals wary of the area. Long use of blood magic had that effect on a kindred Haven, more even so a powerful one.

Cullen flew his car down beside the fountain, glanced at himself one last time through the rear mirror before he stepped out. He let the valet take care of his vehicle and made his way to the large double doors. There stood two large, slightly menacing yet polite security guards. Slicked back hair and crisp three-piece suits didn’t hide the look in their eyes.

“Good evening. Your hand, please.”

Cullen pressed his hand down on the tablet that the tall Qunari woman presented to him until it identified him, his 3D picture floating on the screen. A fake identity, of course. Artificial intelligences could always be lied to.

“Templar Etrius,” she greeted him with a nod and a gesture he could enter, which he did. He adjusted his collar in one last nervous gesture, smoothed his hands down his sides as he walked in the lobby with a beautiful high arched ceiling, paintings of famous Lasombra members staring down at him. The large room was already occupied with Sabbat members Cullen recognized, all low ranks trying to lick up the Archbishop’s boots. Cullen found a servant for a glass of vitae, glancing at his almost feverish complexion. An elf, still mortal, but probably a ghoul who was yearning for his master’s blood.

He sipped at the vitae, noting its excellent quality, but he didn’t expect anything else at a ball organized by the Archbishop of the city himself. Cullen couldn’t wait to meet the man, he mused to himself as he continued to the ballroom.

A Tevinter tradition was that nothing they did was done in half measures. It was proved in the cages hung from the high ceiling, where was imprisoned a mix of mortals, Sabbat members who had earned the archbishop’s wrath, or discovered undercover agents. Thirst and hunger and torture had made them a shell of who they once used to be, lost within themselves, their body prostrated and catatonic.

In the middle of the room, a buffet of mortals waiting to offer their blood with a smile. Other light delicacies were laid on the table; blood pudding and sorbet, for the pecky Ventrue.

“Templar Etrius, what a delight,” a middle-aged woman strolled to him with a smile stuck to her face just as her age, stopping before him a step closer that was the etiquette. Cullen discarded his discomfort as he bowed to her.

“Lady Margaret, how many times will I need to remind you to call me Clint? I didn’t think you enjoyed partaking in gruesome events such as this,” he said. Sacrifices were to be made later on, or so was the rumor whispered among the guests.

“Oh, I’m always ready for more gossip, and I sense tonight will be a night to remember.”

Margaret was a 12th generation vampire. Two centuries spent to learn everything about the Sabbat’s members whereabouts. Cullen despised everything she represented, but she was a mine of information he couldn’t have gone without for his mission. She was a bit more tactile than he was comfortable with, but he grinned and endured. When she stroked his sleeve in a seduction attempt, he sensed the tendrils of a Discipline around him and brushed them away as he faked they affected him, smiling down at her with a blank look. Why was she trying to Dominate him?

“Tell me, Clint, who has your attention?”

He was about to reply a complete lie to satisfy her morbid attention when the large doors leading to the Archbishop’s library opened to reveal the man himself, easy to recognize. He was wearing long red robes made from a shiny artificial fabric, the last trend in Tevinter, with a high collar giving him an even sterner look than his expression. His short buzz cut was military styled; his beard, neat and trimmed. But the most chilling aspect of him were his eyes, a chilling icy blue.

Behind him followed his Priscus, his unofficial advisor, with elegant golden robes that flourished at his feet, metallic details catching the light as he strode in. He was a gorgeous man and was very aware of it, making sure to squeeze every opportunity he could get with it. The Archbishop’s bed, it appeared, was one of those opportunities. Cullen didn't know he would be witnessing one of Dorian Pavus’ lying spectacles on this fine evening.

The Pavuses had been a family of Revenants, ghouls able to fabricate their own magic gained throughout generations of servitude. Dorian was the first of his family to step up and be Embraced with the use of his natural charms.

“Excuse me a moment, there's a friend I wish to greet,” Cullen told Margaret, before disappearing in the crowd. He approached the two new arrivals, the Archbishop’s personal lackeys staying close, always protecting him. It would be worrisome if Cullen was here for Benezri, but he wasn’t.

He recognized the rich laugh before he reached Pavus, who was talking to a neonate with stars in her eyes. Cullen could understand, he once had been under the influence of Pavus’ seduction skills.

He bypassed the duo to get himself another glass of vitae, crimson life in delicate crystal. He turned around and met the gaze of Pavus, arching an eyebrow at him. For his worth, Pavus didn't stutter, maintained the same amicable look, and he excused himself with a comment that made the woman laugh.

Cullen didn't pretend to look away, instead watched the elegant man walk to the buffet, standing at his side as he took a glass for himself.

“I didn't think you would ever be willing to attend such events.”

“I didn't think you ever would fall as low as to become a Priscus,” Cullen replied harshly, his grasp tightening on the crystal.

Pavus had a warning glare and gestured at one of the doors. “Let me offer you a tour, Lord…”

“Templar Etrius. I didn't get your name either.”

“I’m Priscus Darinius Rodolfo. If I’ve filled your curiousity, follow me.”

Pavus turned on his heels and strode away, majestic and beautiful in his cold, cold fury. Cullen hated him even more for it.

He led him to a secluded study room, one of many, on the same floor but away from prying eyes and ears. Cullen barely had time to close the door before Dorian was in his face, pale eyes furious.

“Are you trying to destroy my entire work?” He spat, jamming a finger against one of his pectorals. Cullen slapped his hand away.

“Of course it’s my fault,” he said with dripping sarcasm. “How silly was it of me to not send you a message telling you of my whereabouts, so we don’t run into each other.”

“Please do next time.”

“I fucking will. As for knowing _your_ whereabouts, I didn’t. Rodolfo, really?” Cullen sidestepped, instead studying one of the bookcase’s contents. He forced himself to calm down, he couldn’t compromise his mission.

“I created a new name entirely, a new person for the sake of going undercover. Why are you here?” Dorian sat in one of the loveseats, completely at ease. He kept looking at him through his lashes, twisting his rings around his fingers. Vampires didn’t age, but most of them would look closer to the monster within as time passed; skin and hair and eyes becoming dull, ashy, glassy. To him, Dorian looked just the same than he had all these centuries ago, when they’d stumbled upon each other in the middle of a mission and almost compromised decades of Cullen’s spy work. They both were infiltrating the Sabbat to gather information for their respective sect, and Cullen had been tempted to get Thedas rid of another despicable Anarch.

He gave Dorian a sardonic smile. “For the same reason you’re here, I suppose.”

Dorian’s face became blank. He turned his back to Cullen to observe the many trinkets littering the desk, almost too many to leave space available to work. “A bigger spider is hanging over us, waiting for preys to be tangled in their web”, he whispered with an odd, older accent.

“Interesting.” Cullen assessed him. “Anarchs are more clever than I thought, sending you to investigate whispers of a buried Antediluvian discovered by the Sabbat. Tell me, did you have to infiltrate the Archbishop’s bed to become his Priscus?”

He should've seen the dagger thrown at him, but Dorian had done it so quickly that he could only groan in annoyance and pain when it lodged itself in his shoulder.

“Slutshaming is so past century, cammy scum.”

“I don’t hear a no.”

“Jealousy is leaking off you.”

Instead of replying, Cullen removed the dagger from his own flesh and licked the blood off it, putting more tongue than necessary. The small noise he made was also not necessary, but judging from Dorian’s reaction, it was worth it.

He flipped the dagger over, playing with it. “How shall we deal with this situation?”

Dorian was about to reply, when a curious look set on his face. That worried Cullen, and with reason. The door burst open, and in entered Lady Margaret with two large lackeys of the Archbishop, followed by the man himself.

“Darinius, what is the meaning of this?” He said in a calm demeanor, only his hands closed in fists at his sides broke his false composure.

“It's not what it looks like.” Dorian got to his feet, his hands in the air in a calming gesture.

“Margaret heard two Anarchs talking together, I never thought my advisor would be one of them.”

“I'm not an Anarch,” Cullen spat, just as Dorian said, “he’s a Cammy scum, don't associate him with me.”

They exchanged a glare. Centuries of being a spy and never getting caught, only for their hatred to get the best of them.

They both dove to the side, behind the sturdy desk, just as the two lackeys began to shoot on them. Cullen flipped it so the top would cover them, at least for a little while. He retrieved his Giovanni Squeeze Gun from its holster against his lower back.

Beside him, Dorian groaned in pain, yet his daggers were out. “The Final Death will be a sweet mercy once I’m done with you,” he gritted between his teeth, his once perfect styled hair now wild around his face, that long silken hair Cullen wanted to grip him by and pull.

“I'm not the one who's been shot.”

“ _Tacē._ ”

At some point they lackeys had to reload their guns, and it was Cullen's cue. He leaned over one side of the desk and shot nearest in the knee and heart, two quick shots, then used one of his favourite Discipline on the other one. Immediately, he fell, thrashing around and screaming in agony. Then he exploded, body parts and blood thrown everywhere and splattering on the furniture, on Cullen’s face and his clothes. The two lackeys’ remains turned to ashes, and soon, vanished completely.

He didn't see what Dorian did, but he was suddenly on the Archbishop in a flurry of fabric, just as a large statue was thrown at Cullen's head. He dodged, but Margaret used that moment to get closer. The sound turned muted around them, leaving them in an unnatural silence.

“Now I know why there was nothing about Templar Etrius anywhere,” she said with a rictus. She punched him in the face, her strength heightened from Potence, which meant it hurt. A lot. Pain exploded through his cheekbone and brow bone, rendering him blind for a moment. He swore, then caught the next punch thrown at him in his own hand and used the momentum to throw her in the bookcase. She screamed as she hit the shelves, the books falling on her.

Cullen shook his head to get rid of the shadows around him, dispelling her magic. He retrieved his gun from the floor, grunted as he struggled to stay upright. His head was pulsing so bad, but luckily his body was already working on healing his concussion. Dorian and the Archbishop were still fighting behind him, which was fine by him. He could die for all he cared.

Blood was dripping down his face in a tickling sensation, falling in his eyes and on the floor.

Margaret was trying to free herself, but she stopped when she realized the gun aimed her way.

“Lady Margaret, I’m afraid your need for gossips shall be the end of you,” Cullen sighed, wiping some of the blood at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. The woman began to insult him in Tevene when he kicked her back in the bookcase, more books tumbling on her head.

“Listen, I’m bleeding on the carpet, and I can’t understand what in the Void’s name you’re saying. I don’t have time for this.”

An used slug later and she was gone. In the corner of the room was Dorian in a verbal fight with the Archbishop through their physical one, done mostly in Tevene, and despite having an automatic translator installed in his phone, Cullen just didn’t care to use it. It was time to leave while he can, deliver the information he had to the Prince about the Antediluvian. Perhaps he would finally have some time off, return to Denerim.

Dorian had no chance to escape. If he didn’t suffer a Final Death at the hands of the Archbishop, he would be judged in front of the Cardinal and doomed to a fate worse than the eternal darkness. That was the danger of infiltrating enemies’ sects, and why Cullen preferred to suck information out of lower ranks; easier to make them talk, easier to get rid of. To try and seduce the Archbishop was almost a suicide mission, and he wondered what Dorian had been playing at. Whatever the Anarchs’ goal was for the sake of the Jyhad, this eternal war between the Kindred sects, a spy’s existence was nothing but a pawn in a never-ending chess game bigger than any of them.

Cullen opened the window of the office, deactivated the invisible protection surrounding it with an eyeroll – amateurs. He swung a leg out, then turned his head one last time. An error, he came to realize as pity overtook him at the sight. Despite his wit and his wicked tongue, Dorian was no match for an older kindred. The oldest vitae was the purest, and no illusion or subterfuge could change that fact.

Dorian was being forced to cut himself open with his own weapon, bleeding himself in front of Benezri’s sadistic eyes. He was using Dominate on him, a discipline that Cullen personally hated, for he’d been subjected to it only too many times in a part of his past he wished nothing but forget about. Whether that, or the thought that Dorian didn’t deserve to finish as an amusement puppet, forgotten in one of those floating cages like a broken overused toy, made Cullen change his mind.

He gathered his powers one last time, knowing they were on the verge of exhaustion, and focused them enough to levitate that strong, sturdy desk that now had seen better nights, and send it flying towards the Archbishop. It hit its target, so strongly that the vampire crashed through the wall, in a midst of wood splinters and plaster.

No time to waste. Cullen kneeled beside a half-conscious Dorian to gather him in his arms. Deep cuts ran along his arms and his chest, his robes barely holding together. He didn't protest when Cullen jostled him, the scent of his sweet, tempting blood almost making him black out in a frenzy until he bit the inside of his mouth to stay focused.

“Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

Going by the window was perilous with someone in his arms, but he made it and swiftly landed on his feet in the inner garden. The night enveloped them, alone through a sea of flowers. Cullen walked as fast as he could to the parking area, scanning for his car. He only encountered one couple fumbling against a car, luckily not his, and he applied an illusion to both Dorian's and his face, just in case.

Once he found his beloved, he dropped Dorian on the passenger’s seat before climbing behind the wheel. Dorian didn't wake up on the way to his Haven, nor when he was deposited on Cullen’s bed. He only woke up when Cullen let him rest against his chest to press a straw tucked in a blood bag against his lips, and he began to greedily drink with a sigh of contentment, his eyes remaining shut. His wounds closed themselves up before Cullen’s eyes, and soon only flawless brown skin peeked through the tatters of his robes. He straightened up on the bed and away from Cullen, his shoulders tense now that he was more alert.

“Why did you save me?” He inquired, turning to him. 

Cullen shrugged. “The enemy of my enemy is my ally, or so I've heard. It didn’t feel right to let you alone to face off the Sabbat.”

Dorian fiddled with his destroyed outfit, his gaze distant. “I doubt I would have done the same thing.”

“Luckily I was the one the decision was given to.”

“I am in your debt.”

“How do Anarchs repay their debt?”

“However we can, even to the Camarilla.” His gaze swept over his face, so intense Cullen thought he could feel it brushing his skin. “I could offer you information on the Antidilluvian, if that's what you desire.” He leaned over him, and Cullen stopped himself from backing away when a hand softly touched his bruised cheek. “Or a kiss.”

The temptation was strong, the both of them well aware of it, and yet. He refused to impose on anyone that way. “Information. Tell me everything you know.”

Dorian hummed with a small smile, fixing his moustache. If this had been a test, Cullen seemed to have passed.

Dorian had been working as an undercover agent for years, slowly getting into the Archbishop's circle. Benezri had been indulgent in the past with his lovers. Dorian didn't experience sexual attraction very often, let alone towards a Sabbat, so it had been through attentiveness and careful words that he successfully made the Archbishop reveal all his secrets.

The Antidilluvian had indeed been found by a group in the North of Tevinter, but the Ancient had awoken and fled towards Seheron. The Qunari, constituted of independent clans, killed any Sabbat who dared follow the Ancient.

“Whatever they’re planning to do is unknown to everyone.”

Dorian’s bracelet made a small alert sound, and he checked his phone, the holographic screen popping up when he prompted it. He muttered something in Tevene, annoyed. “My cover is completely blown. I will need to return to my haven, keep low for a while.” 

“Will you be alright?” Cullen inquired.

Dorian seemed surprise, but it quickly was replaced by a small derisive smile. “Of course. Running away from my home country is something I'm excellent at by now.”

He got to his feet, suddenly unsure as he faced Cullen. “I'm not talented with goodbyes, perhaps because I had so many of them.” Slowly, he placed his fingers under Cullen’s chin, lifted his face up as he leaned down. He pressed a soft, soft kiss against his lips. Cullen closed his eyes and relished in what was given to him, leaning into him and breathing deeply so he could remember his rich scent.

“Thank you.”

And then he was gone. All that remained were bloodstains on his bed sheets and the deep, aching yearning in Cullen’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Alright, WoD is hella complicated because there's two decades of lore thrown in there. The vampires are called Kindred and are divided in multiple sects fighting in an eternal war called the Jyhad. You have the Camarilla, that tries to keep the mortal and vampire worlds separate, then the Sabbat, who are the opposite and think they're superior to mortals. You also have the Anarchs, who don't believe the older vampires should have all the power and use the new vampires like replaceable pawns. 
> 
> There's more sects, but my story focuses on these three. Cullen is Camarilla, Dorian is Anarch, and they both infiltrate the Sabbat to get infos on an Antidilluvian, a third generation vampire. Yup, there's also generations of vampires, and the oldest blood is the purest and the most powerful. Unrelated to the sects, all vampires belong to a clan determining their Disciplines, their blood abilities, and usually their personality traits. There's thirteen clans in total, and clan variants within each of them. 
> 
> Someone created a wonderful [glossary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325517) if you would like to learn more terms, and the [wikia](http://whitewolf.wikia.com/wiki/Classic_World_of_Darkness) is always a lifesaver during the writing of my VTM stories.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://captain-amoruca.tumblr.com/).


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